“I love you.” She could feel his grin against her cheek. He stayed that way for a solid minute and just rubbed his hand along her arm. He pulled back slowly and met her gaze. For the first time since her revelation, he seemed... not distant, but maybe wistful.
“Good. Now buckle up.” He signaled to Brian for a beer and nestled Emily into his side. She paused at his lack of response to her declaration, but his body spoke volumes, so she snuggled in and off they went.
Even before the plane began its descent, Emily knew where they were going. Nantucket.
“Nave? I thought your family sold your place.”
“We did. I bought a new house. I can’t wait for you to see it. The rest of the island can wait though. This weekend we are just going to relax and unwind.”
“Sounds perfect.”
As they hopped into a battered Jeep with no doors, Emily thought of the Bugatti back in New York. With a secret smile, she thought, this is the real Nathan. It was peak season in Nantucket, and as they wound up Cliff Road, she shivered in anticipation. Both of their childhood homes were sold but Nathan, while low key as billionaires went, liked his creature comforts. She knew his home would be incredible but inconspicuous. When they pulled into the entrance to her old home, her jaw dropped.
“Nathan?”
“First thing I bought when I got access to my accounts at twenty-five.” His smile was hopeful. “I asked your father to hang on to it until then, for me.” Emily remembered her father selling the house on her twentieth birthday. Now she understood.
“I think you’re trying to kill me.” She stared at the roll bar of the Jeep, trying to stop yet another bout of tears.
“Nah, but I would like to make you smile for once instead of cry. You only had eight summers here with me, but they were perfect summers. I want you to have every summer here.”
“You’re setting the bar kind of high.” Every perfect summer was a lot of expectation.
“No, I’m not. You don’t have to do anything to make them perfect, Emily. You just have to be here.”
She smiled then. He followed the line of her lips with his finger.
“Aha, success.”
She took his hand. “Let’s go look. Is it different?”
“A little. I made some changes. Knocked out a wall, updated the kitchen and bathrooms. Oh, and I bought the house on the other side and tore it down.”
“You what?”
“You never saw it. It was a blight. It looked like a maximum-security prison, and it blocked the view.”
She just shook her head as she walked ahead of him up the winding drive. “So, you spent five million dollars for a view.”
“Eight,” he corrected as he jogged to catch up, “and worth every damn dime.”
The exterior of the house looked just the same—the gray shingles and black shutters, the flagpole in the center of the large patch of grass circled by the pebbled driveway, white window boxes overflowing with cascading white petunias and lobelia. Inside was another story. The ten-thousand-square-foot home was a classic Nantucket estate. A wide, open hallway bisected the house straight to large French doors at the back that led out to the pool and the beach, which was accessed by a steep set of wooden steps typical of the houses along the cliff. Inside, a wide staircase started about halfway back and led up to a landing with another set of doors that opened onto a small balcony. The stairs then turned back toward the front of the house to complete the ascent to the second floor. It was all very traditional, but for the fact that there were no walls.
The walls that had once separated the living and dining rooms from the center hall had been removed and replaced with sleek white columns. Behind the dining room, a massive space had been created from combining the original kitchen, staff quarters, butler’s pantry, and breakfast room into a kitchen/living space that any chef would dream of and any family could camp in. Decorated in white and slate blue, the kitchen was sleek but homey. A long French provincial farm table held a vase of Nikko blue hydrangeas. The island was white honed marble with a graphite vein, and the cabinets were white cottage board. The kitchen opened to a bells-and-whistles outdoor cooking area under a covered patio. The space was punctuated with heavy wrought iron furniture covered in cushions upholstered in broad yellow and white stripes. The guest house to the right of the pool had a party room, a smaller kitchen, and five bedrooms.
But the real kicker was the view. Every room Emily stood in looked out over the vast Atlantic. It was a bit of a hike down the wooden stairs to the private beach but perched up here looking out at such beauty... transcendent.
“Beach or food?”
“Those are my only choices?”
Nathan grabbed her hand and hauled her toward the master bedroom. “What was I thinking?”
“I would like those other two, though,” Emily laughed.
“We’ll get to it. Perhaps all at the same time.” Nathan carried her off. From behind the closed bedroom door, Emily let out a squeal.
The beach at night was heaven. Emily sat between Nathan’s thighs. The waves slapped the shore, and the fire crackled as it died down. Nathan started to rub her shoulders.